#but tried telling myself certainly even if it's true no one will say it

[peachssodapop]

It's been months I'm never going to recover

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ihtherik]

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

story masterlist | next

You awaken.

It's a strange feeling, to go from complete darkness to a world of bright, shining artificial lights. The sudden exposure sends your senses into overdrive and causes you to blink repeatedly, to the point that your eyes start watering. 

“...I can’t believe it,” you hear someone mumble. “It actually worked. I’m a genius!”  

There’s a man in front of you. He’s got a bushy mustache and a pair of distinct, thick-rimmed goggles that prevent you from seeing into his eyes clearly. An elderly man, although it’s hard to tell his exact age. The only other noteworthy thing about him is that he’s wearing a white lab coat. 

And based on how widely he’s grinning, he seems to be rather pleased about something.  

He quickly clears his throat. “Ahem. I suppose I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself. I need to test all your senses first. You can hear me, I’m assuming? You’re certainly reacting to visual stimuli, like the light shining in your eyes. If you can hear me and understand what I’m saying, nod your head once.”  

At first, you just blink, still disoriented and confused, but soon enough, his words sink in. 

You nod, and the man—Dr. Garaki—seems even more pleased than he was just a few seconds ago.  

“Excellent!” he exclaims, and you watch as he scribbles something down onto a clipboard. “Language comprehension is working just fine too. Although now it’s time for the real test. Listen closely, please. I’ve decided I want to call you [Name]. Can you try saying that? Try saying your name for me, little one.” 

You stare at him for a few moments, and even though you understand what he’s asking of you, it still takes a while for your mouth to move the way you want it to.  

But eventually, you succeed.  

“[N-Name],” you repeat, sounding a bit uncertain at first. You knit your brows together and try again, and this time, it’s far less shaky. “[Name].” 

“Oh, marvelous!” Dr. Garaki praises. He even claps his hands together, incapable of hiding his excitement. “Yes, what a truly wonderful job! Well done. It suits you, too. I really have a knack when it comes to naming my creations.”  

He doesn’t ask you to say anything else, so you sit perfectly still, just staring at him. However, you’ve just learned something. You have a name. 

For some reason, it makes your heart clench, and you’re not quite sure how to describe what you’re feeling.  

Perhaps that’s another thing you have yet to learn.  

“You really are a masterful, prodigal creation,” Dr. Garaki says, stroking his mustache. “It’s incredible. All of your senses appear to be fully functional, and not only that, but you can understand things and communicate, just like a real human would. I always thought that creating Nomus would be the greatest exploit of my career, and I failed so many times before when I tried to artificially engineer a human without a corpse as a base... but you managed to surpass all my expectations. Perhaps I should call you my little miracle.” 

You don’t understand what he’s trying to say, but once again, he seems rather pleased.  

“Best of all is your appearance,” he continues, brushing a finger against your cheek. “Just looking at you, everyone would assume you’re an ordinary little girl! I truly have outdone myself this time around. The Nomus are beautiful in their own way, but you are a carbon copy of the human race. A perfect replication.”  

This man sure likes to talk a lot. Or maybe he talks a perfectly normal amount, but you just don’t have any other frame of reference to compare it to.  

Dr. Garaki steps closer to you and smiles. “Now, then. I still have some tests to finish running, so be a good girl and sit still. Don’t worry. It’ll only take a moment.” 

You don’t really have any idea of what’s normal or not, which is why you don’t move a single muscle as he straps your limbs down to the chair and makes sure to tighten the fastenings shut, so that you can’t break free.  

You are ignorant. You can’t possibly know any better. So, when Dr. Garaki inches towards you, gripping a scalpel between his fingers, all you do is stare at him quietly.  

And then there’s just pain.  

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you scream out at the top of your lungs as Dr. Garaki slices into your flesh, showing zero remorse.  

You’ve only ever spoken your name, so you’re not quite sure what to say to get him to stop, but eventually, the words bubble up to the surface.  

“S-Stop... stop it! It... hurts...” 

“Oh-ho!” he muses. “Already assembling sentences on your own, I see. You register pain just like a normal human would too. It’s truly splendid!”  

Despite your outcry, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even bother to apologize. He just keeps carving you up, ignoring all of your tortured, anguished screams, as well as the look of sheer desperation on your face.  

It feels like you’re about to die. You’ve only known what it’s like to live for a few brief moments, and already, it’s going to be taken from you.  

All this pain, all of this blood... and yet, you still haven’t died yet.  

Why?  

“Ah-ha!” Dr. Garaki exclaims. He steps back and grins cruelly. “It took a while for your body to respond, but there it is! The regeneration is finally kicking in. For a moment, I was worried I hadn’t transplanted the Quirk correctly. Thank goodness everything is in order.” 

He finally stops. You let out a shuddering breath, and you’re suddenly aware of a damp feeling on your cheeks, as well as the fact that your vision is blurry.  

Oh. You must be crying.  

“No need for tears, little one,” Dr. Garaki reassures. “Go on, take a look. Your body is repairing itself as we speak. Everything is going to be just fine.”  

He’s right. Just a few moments ago, you were in so much pain that it felt like you would cease to exist, but now you watch as your bloody, mutilated skin pieces itself back together, until you’re practically brand new. 

The injuries are gone, and so is the pain.  

Dr. Garaki smiles. “See? There’s no reason to be afraid. I’ve made you durable. An incredible creation you may very well be, but you’re of no use to me if you break right away.”  

Something about what he just said doesn’t exactly sit right with you. A voice in your head is telling you to trust this man and listen to everything he says. To follow all of his orders without fail and carry out his ambitions.  

But another voice in your head—admittedly, a much smaller one—is telling you the exact opposite.  

And for some reason, that’s the voice you choose to listen to.  

“It hurt,” you mutter accusingly. “I asked you... to stop.”  

Dr. Garaki frowns, clearly bewildered. “Hm? You sure are becoming increasingly talkative. You must be absorbing information even faster than I thought you would. But like I said, you’re fine. You can handle far more damage than this. Trust me. You can always trust me, alright?”  

No. You get the feeling that you shouldn’t trust him. You shouldn’t trust a single word that comes out of his mouth, and if you stay here, there’s a very good chance that he’ll hurt you again.  

So, the solution is obvious.  

You need to leave.  

“I’m leaving,” you declare. Dr. Garaki proceeds to stare at you in disbelief, and he even sets his clipboard aside so that he can give you his undivided attention.  

“You’re not leaving,” he frowns. “And why would you want to leave? I’m your creator. I brought you to life. I engineered you specifically so that you would serve me and obey my commands, and you say you want to leave? How does any of that make sense? Is it possible I made a mistake somewhere...?”  

He scratches his mustache, unable to make sense of the situation. Even now, there’s still that irritating voice that’s telling you to obey, but you grit your teeth and fight against it, refusing to succumb to the pressure.  

And then you feel it. Something wells up from deep inside you, and as you stare down at the infuriating bindings that are tying you down to the chair, you suddenly realize: Oh. I can break these. 

So, you do.  

“...what in the world?!”  

Dr. Garaki lets out a squeal as you break free of the restraints and kick the chair to the side. He instinctively reaches for the scalpel, then points it towards you, most likely as an act of self-defense.  

Unfortunately, seeing that bloody scalpel again elicits painful memories, and it makes you really, really angry.  

You feel it again. It’s as if something is bubbling up inside of you, desperately seeking release. It pulses and flows, moving through your body in the form of energy. Power. Strength.  

“You’re out of your mind!” Dr. Garaki screams. “You’re supposed to listen to everything I say! What’s wrong with you?! You’re a faulty product! You're damaged goods! Now, sit back down and stay put before I—”  

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. You swing your arm out, and he should be thanking his lucky stars that he managed to jump away in time.  

Destruction unfolds. You’re not quite sure what you did, but you made sure to channel all the strength you could muster, and now the room you’re in—which upon closer inspection, is some kind of lab—has practically been torn to shreds.  

Dr. Garaki is trapped underneath a pile of rubble, and he whimpers helplessly. “I-I don’t understand. The only Quirk I gave you... was the ability to regenerate. Is this... some kind of mutation? But how did it...”  

He passes out, either from shock, pain, or some combination of the two.  

It’s then that you spot a hole in the wall that must have formed when you unleashed your attack earlier. It’s quite small, but you’re fairly small too, so there’s a good chance you’ll fit.  

You drop to your knees and crawl. It’s a snug fit, but you manage to wiggle your way through, and after a brief patch of darkness, you emerge on the other side.  

A bright sky greets you. It’s sunny and warm, and you decide that you quite like this feeling. It’s certainly far more pleasant than being inside the lab, with its murky scent and unnatural lights. It seems as though your decision to leave was the right one after all.  

You clench your hand into a fist. That strange burst of energy you felt earlier is completely gone. You must have used up all your strength. But it’s okay. You’re free now.  

You’re free, and you will discover all that life has to offer.

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[amiascv]

"My greatest enemy, scoring a date!"

Alastor × F!Reader —

tags: enemies to lovers, no established relationship yet. <more platonic than romantic>

content warning: includes swearing, ooc alastor, ooc everyone really, your regular hazbin hotel content.

series?: <i think?>

START!

. . . "Y/N! Alastor! Please could you put off your bantering for one moment. I really, like, really need to focus and I just can't with all the noise right now!" Charlie raged at the two overlords standing behind her as she was busy planning her next course of action to get the Hazbin Hotel to attract more sinners.

"Of course, sweetie! I wouldn't dare imagine causing you no good!" Y/N, the Library Demon, babied her princess. But not out of pure love, Heav- or more fittingly, Hell no! It was out of spite against the Radio Demon beside her.

However, why were they fighting in the first place? You see...

"Our little princess seems to be quite the hardworker lately! Isn't she, Ali?" Sing-songed Y/N, admiring the heir to the throne of Hell as she researched and scoured all the books gave to her on how to attract more sinners towards the Hotel. (courtesy of her, the Library Demon, obviously!)

"She certainly is, N/N! At this rate she'll gain more knowledge and power than ever before! Power which I can guide..." Voiced out Alastor as static soon took over most of his vocal cords in excitement. Excitement which didn't go unnoticed by his dear overlord buddy.

"Aha... aha... Say that part one more time for me?" She threated which caught his amusement. Y/N had a lot of powers, but controlling her temper when it comes to her possessions? Nope, no, nuh uh! Not one of her traits, that's for sure! But Alastor? He definitely took advantage of this weakness of hers every single chance he got. Like now, actually!

"Hmm? I do believe I've made myself clear, sweetheart, having ear trouble? I know a good otolaryngologist around these parts if you're interested, my dear!" He teased. Y/N wasn't really this easy to be shoved and pushed around, but why could he do it like it's his one true purpose in life? It infuriated the Librarian even more. So much that she'd even attack the little shit right here and now.

She didn't even need Charlie's power, she just wanted it out of boredom. So why was she so affected?

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU RADIO DEMON!"

Hours past after she apologized to Charlie, and now she was busy taking off her steam at Rosie's side of town. Cannibal town!

"And then he just laughs it off?! He laughs at the sight of ME?!" She rants, demon horns coming out of her head and scaring off other sinners and hell-born alike trying to approach Rosie. Her listener only laughs in amusement at her friend's retelling. It was certainly amusing when she knew both sides to the story. It's like trying to solve a puzzle knowing the end would be a masterpiece to remember!

Her giggles die down as she soon replies, "Deary me, have you tried telling our old friend to stop? Maybe he could if you ask!" She almost choked at her statement. Ask one of the scariest overlords? To stop messing with her? Fuck no! Y/N was prideful of her capabilities, but not too ignorant enough to ask Alastor to just stop.

"If you wanted me to get killed that badly, love, then say so!"

"Well I know for certain you could get something off of asking him!"

"Like what?"

"Maybe... a deal, darling?"

"A deal with the cannibal with shits for brains?"

"Uh-huh! Maybe he's pushing you to your limits so you can have a one on one talk!" She convinces her even further. She does know him better than her... so maybe, it wouldn't hurt to try.

"... If I'm dead by tomorrow you know why," And with that, pages flew around you, enveloping you in their magic and transporting you back to the hotel. Meanwhile with Rosie...

"Alastor, dear, better not blow this thing sideways with her!" She calls out to the shadow hiding behind her. Making his entrance, his smile not faltering, he brushes off the dust he's collected from listening on the two delightful women's conversation.

"Oh don't you worry, my lovely! I wouldn't dream of wasting your opportunity given to me!"

"You better not."

[pinkthrone445]

~Partner in crime~ Part 2

Part 1

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:soft, cute, young Melissa, friends to lovers, slow burn

Warnings:I don't think so

Summary :When they send you to work back in your home town, you start to recall all your memories from your teen years involving the redhead.

-"Soooo..."-the redhead looked at you squinting her eyes to see you better in the middle of the night-"why all your family are assholes? I was able to hear from across the street their screams after you came back from my house... Are you okay?" - she asked and you saw a sincere worry in her eyes. You nodded with your mouth full of the ice cream that she brought to your roof-"I need more than that... I will tell you a secret if you tell me how you truly feel, deal?" - You thought for a minute about what she proposed and nodded again eating more ice cream-"Okey... My secret is, that I actually came here to check if you were okay, no to get away from my siblings to eat that ice cream by myself... If that would have been my true reason, I would have lost because you are eating all of it"-she joked looking how much ice cream you ate and you laughed a little embarrassed

-"They just scream at me because I'm the black sheep of the family I guess... I'm the one that doesn't fit in in their lifes and they make sure I feel that every day. They have their perfect family between her, my dad and their kids and I just don't belong there, I've tried to, but they don't want me here"-You muttered and Mel looked at you with intensity. If there was one thing you hadn't gotten to know in these few hours with her, it was how good she was at reading people, and even though what you said was true, she was able to see that you were hiding a lot of it.

-"Their kids? Those assholes are your dad's kids too?"-she found new information in the way that you were talking

-"Yeah..."-you simply said and she frowned

-"I know we just meet, but you can trust me... Maybe talking will make you feel better" - she put a comforting hand on your knee smiling softly at you, and you could felt the warm through your clothes. You signed and stared at the ice cream that was in your hands. The night was a little bit warm and her hand too, but the cold from the ice cream and the chill breeze gave you a nice contrast on the palms of your hands sending a little chill through your body. All of that, the warm night, the cold breeze, her soft smile, the quiet of the night, the high of the house and her soft voice made you feel at peace and safe, safe enough to trust a almost completely stranger

-"Dad used to be a truck driver, for years he led a double life, he had two houses in different places, two cars, two wives and two families... Mom and I were the spare ones, mom was only his fiancé and my stepmother was married to him long before we appeared on the picture. He had a son with her, after two years, I was born in the other house with my mother, and a year after I was born, he had another son with his wife. My mother was very sick and when we found out that he had another family, she did not have enough strength to resist the news and died. I wanted to stay and live with my grandmother, but she was in a nursing home, and although I offered to take care of her if they let me take her home, the state didn't allowed it because I was a minor... So I had to live with my dad and his other family because my dad's wife forgave him after she found that that my mom died... That's why they hate me, because I'm a living and waking reminder of my dad's affairs"-You said taking a even bigger spoon of ice cream than before. Melissa stared at your face, she didn't know what she was waiting for you to tell her, but it certainly wasn't that.

-"Wow... I'm sorry... I..." - she was trying to find something to say

-"It's okay... I'm about to turn 17, just a few more months after that to turn 18 and I will be able to go live on my own" - You answer finishing the ice cream

-"You can come to my house whenever you need or want, my nana and mom really loved you and they couldn't stop talking about what a nice girl you are" - she said trying to confort you and you smiled softly at her.

After that night, many more moments together came and you could no longer imagine or remember what your life was like without her presence.

You eating at her house became a regular thing and her family treated you as if you were one of them, even when the redhead was not there, they still invited you to dinner or movie night. The weeks began to pass quickly and before you knew it, summer vacation was over and it was time to start at your new school, while you were nervous about that new beginning, knowing that Melissa and some of her siblings would be there calmed your anxiety a bit.

-"Do you have everything ready for tomorrow?" - she asked sitting on your bed eating some chips

-"Yes, I was thinking about using some jeans and a open green shirt over a black muscle, what do you think?" - You asked showing her the hanger with the clothes

-"I think it's really cute... Hey, that green shirt isn't mine? I thought Marie had took it..."-she asked narrowing her eyes to you

-"It's yours, you forgot it that time you stayed here to sleep while my parent were traveling with my brothers, remember? Now it's mine" - You put the clothes back in the closet before she could take it from your hands

-"It's okay... It will probably look better on you than me" - she said and went to your bathroom to wash her hands-"I have to go home to sleep before it gets more late, see you tomorrow?" - The redhead opened your window ready to go outside and climb the tree down. You stared at her, the thought of going to that new school made you more nervous than you wanted to admit

-"Mel?" - she looked at you-"Can you stay tonight with me? I'm too nervous to sleep alone..."-your voice was weak and that broke her heart, she smiled and closed the window

-"Of course, we can't allow you to spend your first day of school without having slept well... Lend me some sleepwear" - she said quickly taking off the things she was wearing.

That night, the redhead wrapped her arms around you, whispering some jokes and sweet things to calm your nerves until you could fall asleep.

Mel and you were only friends, very good ones, or that's what you thought until the next day when school began.

As soon as the day began, Melissa, her siblings and you, all went together while the redhead drove. The day started with a guided tour of the school and some simple classes with repeated introductions mentioning your name, where you came from and the things you liked.

It wasn't until lunchtime that you saw Melissa's siblings again, they invited you to eat with them when they saw you wandering around the yard looking for a place to sit.

While you were eating the limited options offered by the cafeteria and wondering where the redhead was, you saw her enter the lunch court next to a boy, although she was also with other classmates, he was closer to her than everyone else. Apparently your brow furrowed more than usual as Marie immediately began to explain who was he

-"That's Larry... And her other school friends...he likes Melissa and everyone knows it, they don't date because Mel hasn't said yes, but she doesn't say no either, so he keeps wandering around her until the day when she finally say yes... He is a nice guy but a little pusher, he give us chocolate and stuff trying to get our approval and hoping that we will tell nice stuff about him to Mel, hopefully that what we say will help her change her mind quicker, but we only eat the stuff and don't say anything to her"-The younger sister explained eating some stuff of her plate.

Your eyes were fixed on the redhead, barely listening to what her sister was saying. Melissa was a beautiful woman, an amazing body and her always perfect red hair, and in addition to being perfect physically, she had incredible intelligence and was very funny. It wasn't surprising that she had tons of guys behind her... It didn't surprise you, but it did bother you... Why?

You were lost in thought when someone blocked the light coming from the window, when you looked up, the redhead was in front of you and next to her the annoying and insistent Larry. Melissa sat next to you smiling and Larry looked at you hoping that you would move a little so that he could take a place next to the redhead

-"How is your first day going hon?... Can you move a little bit so Larry can sit with us, please?"-she asked pushing you lightly with her hip. She wanted to make room for him on her other side, but you understood that what she wanted was for you to get farther from her so he could sit between you two, and that hurt, you didn't knew why, but it hurt more that it should have and you started to feel a lump in your throat

-"Don't worry, I'm not that hungry anymore to finish what I had, I will use the free time to go around and see the school" - You said getting up from the table and taking your tray of food, leaving your table and seat free for the insistent guy that quickly sat down on your place.

Melissa looked at you in confusion as you left the food hall without looking back.

On the way home you were very quiet and decided to sit in the back seat instead of being her co-pilot as you had been in the morning.

At dusk the redhead came to see you at your house since you were acting very strange since the school day started , but your father told her that you felt a little under the weather and that you had gone to bed without eating. Without giving up, she said goodbye to your father and climbed the tree until she reached your window. After insistent knocks without response, she entered your room since part of the window was open, but she did not find you there, so she decided to climb to the roof. Finding you finally lying on the ceiling, looking up at the sky in silence. Quietly, she sat next to you, looking at your face and discovering how lost and sad your gaze looked

-"Hey kiddo... I brought you some lasagna..." - she looked at you but you didn't looked back at her

-"How did you knew I was here?"-You asked, looking at the starts very lost

-"You always come here when you get sad or need space... What is going on? Someone did something to you at school? Tell me who and I will kill them" - she always said stuff like that, you didn't knew if she was capable of that, but you weren't trying to find out. Sighing you turned to look at her

-"I just miss my mom and nana... That's all... I wish they were here to help me with my head and thouths... It was a weird first day" -you said really low and she frowned

-"I know you miss them... And I know it's not the same, but you are not alone, I'm here to help too, what is going on? What are you feeling?" - she said worried and you sighed again

-"This school is very diferent, everything is different and I feel so out of place... There were so many people and you seemed to have many friends... They seem really interested in you, specially Larry... I mean, I get it, you are really pretty, but he seemed to be invading your personal space a lot... What I'm trying to say is... I... I thought that today we were going to spend more time together, but you seemed really interested in other people and that shocked me a little... You are my safe space and it was hard being away and alone..."-You were talking a little weird, like trying to choose carefully your words. Mel though you had jealousy because she drag attention of other people, she didn't knew it was jealousy because you actually liked her... Or maybe it was jealousy and fear, you weren't so sure about what you were feeling honestly

-"Hey... I won't let you alone because I have other friends, I promise... Also it's okay to have another friends and you will find new ones too, but not matter what, at the end of the day, in this roof, we will always find each other. Okay?.. I promise"-she talked softly trying to help you feel better, but her answers only raised more questions inside you

-"Mel?" - You whispered and she raised her eyebrows paying attention to you- "have you ever been in love?-your question took her by surprise and she took a few minutes to think about it

-"I had a few dates and one boyfriend, but I don't know if that was love, I didn't liked him that much... But mom always says that love comes in many forms, that love makes you feel safe, happy... Sometimes it also hurts and makes you cry. But it makes you feel alive and it's worth living, if it hurts you, you learn and if it makes you happy, it gaves you reasons to live... Why? Do you like someone? Who is it?"-she looked at you really interested

-"I don't know yet... I never felt like this before, sometimes I feel sad and sometimes happy and sometimes my tummy hurts..." - you said looking at her eyes, those where the most beautiful eyes you have seen in your whole life

-"Maybe it's gas" - she joked and you laughed-"That's the smile I missed... Look, I don't know how loves feels or what to do with it, but I will help you with everything I can and I promise to always have food to make your tummy happy again, okay?" - she asked hugging you and you nooded smiling, hiding in her neck, feeling happy and calmer. You didn't knew it yet, but years later you realized that by that time you were already in love with her, but you didn't knew what love was or how it felt, so while you were trying to figure your feelings for her, you decided to stay by her side, having those safe moments on the top of the house eating her delicious food and making each other laugh.

[yuurivoice]

Hi!

I’ve been a silent viewer for a little bit & I'm trying to get caught up. 

While watching your housewarming stream (congrats on the new studio btw!), & seeing/hearing about some stuff from the upcoming projects you/the team have been working on, I thought of something.

From what I could tell, it sounded like there may be a definitive “main listener” character in EoE who plays a specific, significant role in the story.

So, if EoE is the world that everyone in BitterSweet, Shattered, Lost & Found, etc. originated from before they became dreamers, is the listener in EoE supposed to be an amalgamation of all the listener characters from all the other series? Like, was the listener from EoE “split” into the dreamers we now know as Boo, Rook, Casper, etc.? (Similar to how there are multiple “multiverse” variations of Finn.) 

Or, will EoE be another instance where there are multiple listener characters that can branch off alongside the other original characters you introduced? (Like, Thomas gets his own listener, Evalas Finn gets his own listener, etc.)

Am I completely off with my interpretation? I fear I may be getting a little too lost in the sauce, & that I'm looking for information/lore that might not even be true or relevant. 

Anyway, I’m so excited to see how all of this pieces together in the end. Keep up the incredible work!

A little lost in the sauce, but I like your gumption! Short answer, there will be multiple listeners for SOME characters. Thomas most certainly will get one, but I haven't uncovered who or why they are.

What's really different about Evalas Finn's listener is that they're not really his listener. They're a member of a group whose POV will span multiple characters and interactions and are not tied to Finn in such a way that they are constantly in his pocket. While that is a tried and true way to do ASMR Roleplay things, I wanted a silent protagonist. Someone whose motivations are their own, and not so closely aligned with the characters they share scenes with.

Finn has secluded himself and kept secrets. What I realized in the now redacted EoE entry was that creating a character who just cares about Finn, or even had some motivation but ultimately had to be with him to function wasn't going far enough. We're in a fantasy setting in a world where I could do anything, with a clean slate and tons of options. It felt silly to just play the hits when we could get really interesting.

There's a key shift behind that and I'll just put it plainly.

I don't really care about selling smut tied to Echoes of Evalas. I've given up trying to voice every cut of meat so I could moan for money. I've given up on every relationship between character and listener being perfect and occasionally horny. The machine will continue running if I can't peddle my smut, and that means...not everything has to be a perfect, sexy, agreeable situation. It can get messy.

With that freedom.......it's a whole new world of options.

Now, I say that, but there is definitely spice pretty early on buttttt...it kinda serves a narrative purpose. The intimacy isn't just something that happens and is otherwise unbothered with the plot. It leads to some things!

What I think I'll discover is that my box I put myself in before this freedom was one of my own making due to listening to a handful of voices I let get under my skin...including my own.

There is something unique about this listener, but it will be at least somewhat clear early on. At least you'll have enough to start sniffing in the right direction!

[artist-issues]

this my sound silly, but do you have any advice on how you come up with something to say for a story?

I think you're right that good art has something to say and communicates it well. That's certainly true of every story I've ever loved.

But while I love inventing fantasy worlds, you've made me realize I've never actually planned to say anything with them.

I've got lots of opinions, lots of beliefs, lots of stuff to say, but now that I realize I need to, it's been hard to pick one of those to be the core point of a story.

the trouble is, the dominant writing advice I saw online was the opposite. that stories made for the purpose of communicating a message or promoting something just turn into preachy propaganda, so the best way to make a good story (that, dare I invoke the curse, appealed to a wider audience) was to muddy it so you could take away as many interpretations from it as possible. thus most of the material I've given myself to work with has been slightly poisoned.

I really like how you said all of that! I agree with your assessment of the advice most people give.

Here's how I do it:

A loose concept, like a disgraced knight falling in love with the King's head of staff who's come to live in the village he's hiding in, will pop into my brain. I'll like the concept. I'll imagine one or two interactions between them that I just like.

But when it comes time to write anything down, even just for my own notes—then it's time to find a message. And usually that's not hard, or at least, that's not disingenuous, because:

what I believe, my worldview, was already subliminally shaping the things that I liked.

So then as I go to write down the names, the histories, the plot points, of my fun little knight love story idea, I find that something kind of...readily fits them.

But now here's the catch; it really helps to know what you believe, and to feel strongly about it, for all of that to come as naturally as possible.

About Propaganda "versus" Stories:

It's a lie to say that something which is created to say something is always propaganda, and something which is created with no careful point thought out is always art. Silly thing to believe. It's like saying "all words are propaganda." No, all words are communication. It's not our fault they don't like that we know what we want to say, and we want them to understand it clearly.

I mean. All art is propaganda, if by "propaganda" or "preachy" you mean, "I tried to take what was going on in my head & heart and put it in your head & heart." All art, all storytelling, is that. Otherwise you'd just keep what you think and feel bouncing around in your own brain, instead of doing anything outward (writing, drawing, painting, singing, speaking, reacting with your body language) with it.

I think what people are getting at when they say "avoid being preachy" or "that's not art, it's propaganda" is "you weren't being genuine." And that can be true. Sometimes people can tack a meaning onto a movie or a story where it doesn't fit because they either a) don't believe that strongly in the thing themselves, but everyone around them was clamoring for it or b) they were lazy and didn't do the work to make the story fit, genuinely, with the message, in a way that enhances and makes the message winsome.

But as bad as those two mistakes are, neither of them prove that intending to say something with your story, very carefully and genuinely, that you don't want misinterpreted, is somehow a bad thing.

Look at the fairy tales that the Brothers' Grimm collected. Look at any stories from the time before commercialism: Our oldest stories combined genuine enjoyment with the virtues and meanings that made enjoyment possible/worthwhile.

Anyway. I have a feeling you agree with me already about this so I'll hop down off that soap box.

What Comes First: Having Fun Making What You Like, or Choosing Something to Say?

I don't think it is wrong to tell a story that...you didn't have an intended thesis written down for. I think people like J.R.R. Tolkien and Walter Elias Disney prove that. But the thing is, what they believed got infused into their storytelling, because of course it did. It can't help it. When you want the audience to like your lead character, you make her likeable—but the traits you think are likeable are informed by something.

Snow White is innocent and pure because Walt Disney naturally considered those things beautiful and good and worth liking. He probably didn't even think to write it down and revolve everything around it: it just came out that way.

Frodo is a little scholar, and willing to soldier on with what little he can do, despite his lack of experience, because those are character traits Tolkien felt were good and likeable. Why? Because deep down, in his worldview, he believes being book-smart and doing what you can with what you have is valuable. And that just...comes out, much like his valuing of history, in the thing he creates.

Now, if they didn't know what they believed--or if they were insecure people "blown about by every wind of false doctrine" that comes their way--or if they were focused more on satisfying what the largest number of people liked--they wouldn't have been able to infuse the story with any genuine meaning, planned-out or natural.

That's what I think.

I think it's all a matter of loving what's good and true. Training your affections, so that you care most about things that are worth caring about—the things you feel most strongly about in characters will be the things you feel most strongly about in life. I love Stitch because I love redemption. Not primarily because I love sci-fi characters, the color blue, or the blend of ugly-and-cute—even though I do like those things on a more minor scale. See?

But if you've trained your affections for junk food—you feel most strongly appreciative of characters that are hot, or spout off funny one-liners, or come onscreen to cool music—then that's what will naturally come up in your own storytelling.

There's also nothing wrong with doing it the other way; saying you want to teach a certain lesson, and then coming up with characters and settings to fit that lesson. Coming at it from that direction is just as valid—as long as you put in the work, and care more about that lesson you genuinely believe in than you do what other people think.

Anyway,

To Write Your Own Main Point/Thesis/Armature/Theme

When it’s time to start writing anything down, it’s time to figure out the main point, and that’s when I...typically think about what I'd want to teach the kids I'm around, to be honest.

With my disgraced-knight love story, I go "what is it he loves about the girl, in all those vague vibe-y scenes I’ve been picturing?" And I make the connection between her virtuous character traits to what I want him, the main character, to learn.

So for example, she used to live in the palace, working for the King, but she was humble enough to give all that up and live in a no-name town to take care of her stepfather. He's disgraced and doesn't want anyone to know who he is—well, that's a pride issue, totally the opposite of how humble his love interest is. And why’s she humble? Because she’s not focused on herself. She doesn’t care about her own reputation or status. So then I just reverse engineer that: the point of the story is "Live in the King's name, not your own." Now one of the two main characters embodies that—the other has to learn it, and the story is the obstacle course he’s pushed through to get there.

I wasn't consciously thinking about making her the king's former head of staff, or him disgraced, when I first came up with the vague concept of the story, see? I just liked the "vibe" of a hopeless dude suddenly seeing a ray of light in the "vibe" of a girl from poor circumstances who seems happy regardless of them. I liked that "vibe." Then I traced what I liked about the vibe back to something that is true and worth teaching or appreciating in real life.

I’m in a job I don’t love right now, and it could make me miserable, but if I just remember “in everything you do, whether in word or in deed, do for the glory of the Lord,” then my focus isn’t on myself and I have joy and hope. And that hope can be used to point others, around me, to hope, too. So I’m not “preaching” something disingenuous; I’m living it, because this is what I believe, so no wonder it’s also leaking it’s way into my story. I just happen to be creating a pipe so that the leak flows more smoothly, which can only help, in the long run.

But I’ve done it other ways, too. Once I watched kind of from afar as a friend’s family fell apart. I felt like, from the outside, I could see where one of my friends was hurting and what they needed to accept (from the Bible) to move forward, but I wasn’t in a position to say it to my friend directly. Then I figured, “if my one friend is going through this situation, others probably are too, and this lesson from the Bible is universal anyway” so I…made up an analogy for the way their family fell apart, then came up with an ending that taught the “family” in the analogy the lesson I got from the Bible. So for that, you can see how I first came up with the main point, then built up characters and a world and a story to fit around it.

Both ways work, the chicken or the egg first. But they only work if you are committed to working hard and serving others with your story, not committed to being popular or “only making what YOU like.”

Make sense? I hope so! Thank you for the question!

[shitsndgiggs]

reader being a gymnast but she gets injured, and she cant go to the olympics because she has to have surgery, and kenan is there to take care of her and when shes allowed to walk again he takes her to his football matches so she isnt bored home alone…

angst at the beginning, then fluff at the end

THICK AND THIN - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan helping you through your injury

Kenan Yildiz x gymnast! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It was the day that everything was supposed to fall into place—the culmination of years of relentless training, early mornings, and late nights. The Olympic trials had been circled on my calendar for as long as I could remember.

But instead of celebrating a dream coming true, I was lying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with a dull ache in my chest that was far worse than the pain in my knee.

The injury had happened so fast. One moment, I was in mid-air, performing a routine I had practiced hundreds of times, and the next, I was on the mat, my knee twisted in a way it wasn’t supposed to go.

The pain was immediate, but it was nothing compared to the realization that followed—the realization that my dreams of competing in the Olympics had just shattered in a single moment.

Kenan had been at the gym when it happened, watching from the sidelines like he often did, offering quiet support that meant more to me than he probably realized. He was by my side in an instant, his face pale with worry as he called for help.

He didn’t leave my side, not in the ambulance, not in the hospital room, and certainly not when the doctor came in with the news I had been dreading.

“You’ll need surgery,” the doctor had said, his voice gentle but firm. “And recovery will take time—several months, at least. The Olympics… I’m sorry, but it’s not going to be possible this time.”

Those words echoed in my head over and over as I lay there, feeling like the ground had been ripped out from under me. The Olympics were gone, and with them, everything I had worked for.

Kenan sat beside me, holding my hand, his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His presence was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “It’s not your fault. I just… I don’t know what to do now, Kenan. This was everything to me.”

He squeezed my hand a little tighter. “You’re still everything to me. And we’ll get through this together, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weeks that followed were a blur of doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, and long, quiet days at home. The surgery had gone well, but the recovery was slow and painful.

There were days when it felt like I’d never get back to where I was, when the weight of what I’d lost was too much to bear.

Kenan was there for all of it. He made sure I took my medications, helped me with my exercises, and never once let me wallow in self-pity for too long. He was patient and kind, even when I was short-tempered and frustrated.

He cooked my favorite meals, kept the apartment tidy, and somehow always knew exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t know myself.

But as much as I appreciated his care, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a burden. Kenan was in the prime of his football career, and here I was, holding him back. I tried to tell him to go to practice, to focus on his career, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he’d say with a smile, brushing a kiss against my forehead.

It wasn’t until I was finally allowed to start walking again that things began to change. The first steps were tentative, shaky, but they were steps nonetheless. Kenan was there, of course, cheering me on like I had just won a gold medal.

His encouragement meant everything, and slowly but surely, I started to regain some of my strength.

But the long days at home still dragged on, and Kenan could see how restless I was becoming. So one day, after another grueling physical therapy session, he surprised me.

“How about you come to my match tomorrow?” he asked as we sat on the couch, my legs stretched out on his lap.

I looked at him, surprised. “Really? But won’t it be… you know, distracting?”

Kenan chuckled, shaking his head. “Distracting? Are you kidding? Having you there would be the best motivation I could ask for. Plus, I think you could use a change of scenery.”

He was right, of course. I needed to get out of the apartment, to feel like I was part of the world again.

So the next day, I found myself sitting in the stands at the stadium, surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the smell of freshly cut grass.

It felt strange at first, being on the sidelines instead of in the spotlight, but as the match began, I found myself getting caught up in the excitement.

Kenan was amazing to watch, his focus and determination on full display as he moved across the field with the kind of grace and power that had always taken my breath away.

But every so often, he’d glance up at the stands, searching for me, and when our eyes met, he’d smile, and it was like we were the only two people in the world.

After the match, which they won, Kenan came straight over to me, still in his kit, sweat-soaked and grinning like a kid.

“What did you think?” he asked, practically glowing.

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “You were incredible, Kenan. Thank you for bringing me.”

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “You being here made it even better.”

From that day on, I started attending more of his matches, and it became our new routine. It wasn’t the same as training for the Olympics, but it was something, and it felt good to be out and about, supporting him the way he had supported me.

And slowly, as the weeks turned into months, I started to find a new rhythm to my life.

The pain of missing the Olympics never completely went away, but with Kenan by my side, it became more bearable.

He helped me see that there was more to life than one moment, that there were other dreams to chase, other goals to reach.

One night, as we lay in bed, Kenan wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “You know,” he murmured against my hair, “you’re the strongest person I know. I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

I turned in his arms, looking up at him with a small smile. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without you, Kenan. You’ve been my rock.”

He kissed me softly, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “We’re in this together, remember? And we always will be.”

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Adrien is Marinette's Therapist, NOT her Boyfriend and it's Gross

Mental health struggles are no joke and, if you have those struggles, then you absolutely need a partner who will support you through them. That's why, at face value, Adrien supporting Marinette with her PTSD and anxiety is very sweet. It's what a good boyfriend should do. The problem is that Adrien is being written like her therapist, not her boyfriend.

Adrien has his own struggles with depression, loss, and paternal neglect. Yet none of these struggles are brought up once Adrien and Marinette get together. Instead, the relationship is all about her needs and struggles even though this season ends with Gabriel's take down, meaning that focusing on Adrien's issues would have made more sense from a narrative perspective. How much more powerful would the final have been if Marinette really understood Adrien, Emilie, and Gabriel's relationship?

But why do that when we can make everything about Adrienette instead? Why bother to mention Emilie when Marinette is a much better point of conflict between Adrien and Gabriel? After all, if we did that, then Adrien would have a life outside of Marinette and that would be, well, sigh, let's get into it, shall we?

In Derision, we learn that Marinette apparently doesn't have some form of anxiety or ADHD or any of the other things that people have theorized over the years. No, vanilla-Marinette is a totally relaxed, go-with-the-flow non-planner who only started planning after Chloe, Sabrina, and Kim gave her PTSD. Does this insult her character and make no sense? Yes, but let's not get into that. Let's just accept the retcon and look at the fallout of Adrien knowing that his new girlfriend has massive trauma that's mainly focused on romance and controlling situations.

The very next episode is Intuition. In it we see Marinette calling Adrien to show off her ability to do things without planning (or, at least, with less planning) and it's clear from context that this is an exercise that they're doing:

Adrien: Well... (his phone rings) Fancy that! Marinette! I like spending time with Marinette. (picks up his phone) Marinette: (on-call) Guess what I'm calling for: nothing! Can you believe it? I'm calling you randomly, totally out of the blue, for no reason at all! Adrien: So you didn't write down everything you might need to say to me based on everything I might say to you? Marinette: Not at all! Well... I did. I really tried not to, you know, but it was too hard! Anyhow, I limited myself to fourteen possible conversations, including this one! Adrien: Congratulations! Marinette: (on-call) Thank you! Adrien: And did you prepare questions for science class? Marinette: (on-call) Not-a-one! Not even for the live video conference we're doing with Max's mom on the super awesome Tsurugi space jet! I, Marinette, will improvise questions, unpredictably, without planning anything!

In the context of the show, this conversation is deeply concerning and I don't know wtf the writers think they're doing. There is no way in hell that a 14-year-old should be guiding his girlfriend through a therapy session or therapy exercise unless he has the guidance and approval of a trained mental health professional.

Seriously look at what Adrien is doing in this dialogue: Marinette tells him that she's called him without planning and he doesn't just say "that's great!" Instead, he asks if that's true, congratulates her for her mild improvement, and then prompts her to talk about another situation where she would plan things out. In other words, he's asking about the therapy homework that he's clearly given her or that they've decided on together. It's also clear that this isn't their first discussion on the topic because he's very comfortable knowing what to ask about to see if she's done her homework right.

Why was this homework chosen? Who knows! It certainly wasn't picked by someone with training! A therapist wouldn't tell you to avoid planning for a school assignment (something that we've never seen Marinette overplan before, but once again, we're ignoring the retcon). This scene would arguably be inappropriate for an established adult relationship, but a nascent teenage one? Absolutely not.

My SO and I have both done therapy and seen wildly unbalanced relationships. This conversation threw massive red flags for us on both fronts. This is not what a healthy relationship looks like. This is not a give and take. This is why you need a therapist to at least guide you through this type of situation or you will set yourself up in roles where person A is not getting their needs met because the relationship has an established dynamic where person A is the giver and person B is the taker.

This is especially true for a young relationship that's just getting its feet off of the ground. They're supposed to be in the honeymoon phase! More established relationships are better able to handle phases where one person needs more support than the other which absolutely happens and is totally normal. However, when those things happen, it's vital for the supporting partner to have their own support since they can't get it from their partner.

Miraculous denies Adrien this suport. In the very next episode, we get this:

Adrien: I've always seen Marinette acting funny in my presence. I thought that was just the way she was. I thought it was sweet. I thought it was just her charm. But now that I know it's because she loves me and she freaks out about telling me, I feel bad. Because it means that this whole time she's been uncomfortable around me, and I haven't done anything to help her. Kagami: But you didn't know. Adrien: It doesn't take away from her suffering. I just wish she could feel more at ease when she's with me. Otherwise, one day, it'll be too late and she'll give up. Kagami: What can I do to help, Adrien? Adrien: Thanks, but it's not up to you or anyone else to help. I'm the one who's gotta do something.

No! Adrien, you are not equipped to deal with this solo. Ask Kagami to help! Ask Alya to help! Ask Marinette's parents to help! There are times when it's okay to involve others in your relationship and this is one of those times! This isn't even a relationship issue! It's a mental health issue! I know we're flipping gender roles here, but it's not somehow cute or healthy just because a guy is trying to "fix" the girl for once. No one should try to take on that task. This is what therapy is for.

If therapy is not an option for financial or other reasons, then yes, sometimes you have to struggle through and loved ones can help, but in TV land? Especially aimed-at-kids TV land? Show the ideal scenario! At the very least, show a support network! And I mean actual support, not Kagami asking to help and Adrien shooting her down! Writers, you are making Gabriel's dislike of Marinette valid! You are making it so that she is dragging Adrien down! Stop doing that!

Adrien deserves love and support, too. Adrien deserves to be romanced. Adrien deserves more than a kiss and an "I love you" that he had to fight to hear! He never even gets one of the presents from Marinette's chest. She did more to woo him before they got together and it's such pathetic writing.

The fun of getting these two together is letting them do all the stuff they've always wanted to do! Let Marinette bring him macrons! Let him bring her roses! Let her enhance his wardrobe! Let him write her poems! Let them be a healthy, balanced, sickeningly-cute couple! It's fine if she's nervous at the start and takes a while to act normal, but this show takes it to a level beyond teenage jitters and it's not funny or cute. It's concerning.

All of these issues start with Derision's romance-based-PTSD retcon and it was the worst thing they could have done for the Love Square. It poisons the rest of the season and is why I just can't ship these two in canon even though I love what they could have been. They have established such a horrifically unhealthy dynamic that I can't see this ending well unless they get couple's therapy in the very near future and that's not even touching on the baggage that will come from the lies and still unresolved Ladynoir trauma.

As soon as Marinette has romance-based PTSD, she was incapable of being in a relationship until after she'd learned to manage her PTSD. (PTSD cannot be cured, btw, you just learn how to manage it and the symptoms can lessen.) The writers apparently knew that. It's why they gave her a therapist to support her as she worked through her issues and got to the point where she can say "I love you". His name is Adrien. Isn't he cute?

[thedevilsoftruth]

Hey!, I just finished rewatching moon knight and now scrolling through the moon knight tags when I came across a post about how Mr knight is actually Marc Spector and Steven Grant is a playboy billionaire in the comics and I was shook. Then I came across your post of you ranting about the differences from the show to the comics, which blew my mind!, and now I’m so intrigued and curious about the true lore of moon knight, every time I try to search about it on google I just get references from the shows (so frustrating) I can’t afford to buy the comics, so if you can/want could you please tell me all the important and interesting facts/lore that’s in the moon knight comics?

Sorry for the long message, just came across your page and pressed follow, love your content!. ❤️

AAAAAAGGGGHHHH HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT. GIIGLING AND KICKING MY FEET IN THE AIR. HEY, LOOK MA, I MADE IT!! I GET TO EXPLAIN THE MOON KNIGHT COMICS LORE TO SOME GUY ON THE INTERNET!!

in all seriousness, this made my day. I'm so glad you enjoy my content, and I will happily explain to you the MK lore!

I completely get you on the not wanting to but the comics thing. Comics are expensive. Honey, imma be real with you, readcomiconline.li is where it's at. It's where I read all of the comics I didn't have.

So before I go on a tangent and explain things, and this goes for anyone wanting to start reading the comics, heres a little list of all the comics I've read so far in what I understand to be chronological order.

It's a little bit cheesy and a VERY long run, but Marc Spector: Moon Knight from 1989-94 is maaayybbeee where you want to start off, but maybe not. I didn't start off with this run, but even as bad as the old comics are, they're a bit important.

But, I HIGHLY suggest you start out with the Lemire and Smallwood run from 2016. It was the first run I completed, and it's an amazing run and VERY important to read. Many people say it's the best run. It's certainly a run, I'll tell you that. ( Also I didn't read that one online, I received it last year as a Christmas gift. Also readcomic doesn't have all of the issues, so be warned on that. )

Next I read From The Dead. And I moved on to Vengeance of The Moon Knight from 2009. And after I'd suggest reading Age of Khonshu, Devils Reign and then The Midnight Mission. You can read all of these for free on readcomiconline.li ( don't type in comics plural because it will direct you to the wrong site ) be warned though because there are a lot of ads and you will get jumpscared by anime boobies.

~~

Now moving onto what you asked me for. The important stuff, right.

I'm new to this whole comic reading stuff as well, and for anyone else reading this who knows more than I do, please add additional information I missed down in the reply section. It would mean a lot. So now I'm going to give a you a quick run down on Marc's origin story. ( And for a quick disclaimer, I will come off as not taking myself seriously in some parts of this post because I don't take myself seriously lol. )

Marc Spector was born on March 9th, 1987 in Chicago Illinois into a Jewish family. His father was Elias Spector and his mother was Wendy Spector ( his younger brother being Randall Spector )Elias was a rabbi who manged to escape Nazi prosecution during the days of Hitler and all that jazz. Because Elias was a rabbi, Randall would get picked on at school a lot, and Marc would be there to stand up for him. Even at a young age Marc was exposed to a lot of violence. That could come from growing up yk... Kinda poor and having to stand up for your lil bro.

Marc's violent nature was really born when a close family friend of his, Yitz Perlmen was discovered to be a secret serial killer who targeted Jews. From what I understand, Perlmen tried to Kill Marc ( mind you Marc was like 11 or 12 ) but Marc had escaped but his traumatic experiences led him to form D.I.D

As seen in the Lemire run, the first time Marc had encountered Khonshu was when he was 12 and was getting diagnosed for his D.I.D Marc wasn't told to his face from the doctor about his disorder and was told to step outside the office. Marc tried to evesdrop on the conversation, and from outside of the doctor's office, he meets Khonshu. Khonshu tells him, " That man in there is not your true father. I am. " Mind you, Marc is 12!!! 12!!!! Khonshu began manipulating Marc since he was twelve because he was, obviously really fucking young, and traumatized. Khonshus tactics were to strip Marc away from his religion and culture and make him submit to him.

So anyways, Marc was sent to Putnam Psychiatric Hospital and would stay there until he was 18 when his father funeral came along and he was let go for a week to go visit his family. This is where we learn Marc's relationship with his father was complex. Marc tells his mother, Wendy, that his father must have been happy to send him away because he was embarrassed by him. Wendy and Marc have an argument, which ends in Marc saying he's going to the bathroom, when he actually leaves to his childhood bedroom and escapes out the window when he hears Khonshus voice.

Marc later enlisted into the U.S marines Corps and served as a private for a couple years. But on Marc's second tour to Iraq, superiors started to report his odd behavior and they found out that Marc had lied about his disorder, leaving him to be discharged. Marc joined the CIA and served with his brother Randall. Randall was jealous of Marcs talents and killed Marc's girlfriend, Lisa, because she was going to expose a gun scheme. Marc then like... Threw bombs at Randall and shit and then assumed he was dead...but he wasn't.

Marc left the CIA after that and started doing illegal boxing, where he met his soon to be best friend, Jean-Paul Duchamp ( usually refered to as Frenchie ) and they became mercenaries together and started killing a bunch of people, in Marc's case, for mooonnneeyyy!!! Get that bag, girlie. And then Marc got put on trial for war crimes!! His crime being yk...assistanting the president of this south African country called Bosqueverde as one does.

And then he started to do missions under this group call the Karnak Cowboys and fell in love with one of his groupmates, Layla El-faouly, as seen in later issues of The Midnight Mission. Then she fucking died when an escape went wrong.

So anyways Marc meets this funny lil guy named Raoul Bushman ( he is not funny lil guy, he's killed hundred of people, probably) So Marc works for him with Frenchie and they, together, set to north Sudan to raid a dig site. ( This should start to sound familiar, as it was briefly touched on in the show when Arthur's guys captured Steven and put cuffs on him and slammed him in the back of their car ) Looks like raid shadow legends went down again, and things started to get not so epic when Raoul killed the lead Archeologist of the dig site, Peter Alraune in front of his daughter Marlene. This pissed the ever loving shit out of Marc because even though Marc likes violence, he doesn't enjoy violence against innocent people, and so he punches the fucker but uh oh! The Raoul Bushman Strikes Back, and he fucking KILLS MARC IN RETURN AND EVERYONE ELSE EXPECT FOR FRENCHIE AND MARLENE AND THIS ONE MF WHO TOLD HIM HE WOULD TELL HIM WHERE THE DIG SITE WAS. ( really Raoul left Marc mortally wounded, but he was on the brick of death, basically)

Marc was able to regain conscious and drag himself halfway to Khonshus tomb ( which is what Raoul was looking for ) Marlene and a bunch of other citizens find Marc and they carry him to Khonshus tomb. Marc hears Khonshus voice for yet another time, and Marc is revived and becomes the Moon Knight we all know and love. Then he basically killed Raoul's guys and then fell in love with Marlene.

So that's his origin story. Now onto the stuff I know as fact but it won't be explained in chronological order because I haven't read a ton of comics to explain it in chronological order.

He used Steven as a a way to handle money and build wealth so they could have recourses like vehicles, weapons and a ton of other random bullshit ( go!! ) that they don't need. Jake was used as a new York taxi driver so that he had his eye in the streets and knew when shit was goin down. They're both kind of horny. Jake literally spends some of his free time in a strip clubs drinking rum. ( As seen in the midnight mission and implied on in the Lemire run. )

His relationship with Marlene was long, but didn't last because, if I'm recalling correctly, Marc had a mental breakdown and decided to basically stop working for Khonshu so he could be with Marlene. But soon after he started hearing Khonshus voice again and Marlene couldn't take anymore of it, so she left him.

And then there's that bullshit with The Midnight Man. All I know is that he passed away from cancer and had a son named Jeff Wilde. Jeff aspired to Marc and wanted to be his sidekick, kind of like Robin and Batman in the Lego Batman movie with a little less adoption, but Marc kept on refusing as a way to protect Jeff. The Jeff had this whole thing where he turned evil or some shit idk and I guess Marc killed him? I'm not sure. Please, moon knight gang, let me know what happened in the reply section because I'm ignorant.

Marc had his independence from Khonshu after banishing Khonshu to Asgardian Prison ( seen in Age of Khonshu and discussed in The Midnight Mission) and decided " fuck you, I don't need need you anymore. Imma do my own thing and you can't do nothing about it " and then he became Mr. Knight. Mr. Knight is kind of a detective and he consults with policemen ( as seen in From The Dead ) Moon Knight is the one who does all the fighting.

From where Marc's development is at right now, Marc was running a thing called the Midnight Mission, which was a place where citizens would go to to report strange things happening in the city.

Additional, fun information:

Marc has a daughter named Diatrice. He only knows about it because Jake had a secret relationship with Marlene on the side after Marc and Marlene broke up.

He sleeps all day in the tomb of Khonshu and fights crime at night. He's like a bat!!

His ringtone ( as seen in the midnight mission) is The Killing Moon by Echo and The Bunnymen. ( Y'all should listen to it, if you haven't. it's really good. ).

He drives a red convertible car ( as seen in the Brain Micheal Bendis run, don't read it it's REALLY bad and insufficient. ) and also a motorcycle ( as see in Vengeance of The Moon Knight)

He was originally supposed to fight mainly just werewolf's and um... Writers at Marvel had different ideas.

His favorite drink is an ice cold vodka ( as seen in the Midnight Mission)

He had a mansion and then his money went bye bye and now he lives in a haunted house ( as seen, once again, in the Midnight Mission)

Frenchie is also gay! Hes married to a man named Rob! ( And this is only from what I've heard, by he apparently had a secret crush on Marc at some point.)

And yeah. That's all I have for ya today. Thank you if you made it this far, and I hope I was able to satisfy your curiosity a little bit!

Goodknight everyone!!!

[josiesullysblog]

Don’t Leave Me. P2

~AGED UP Neteyam x Na’vi reader

~Angst, Fluff

~Proofread?-no

~Summary-[Y/n] grew up in a home with conditional love.

***

Neteyam was a protector. He knew his role at a very young age, it could be something small like a forest animal, or a young child in his clan he understood that if the time came he’d protect.

He took pride in being like his father, he loved protecting his family he wanted them to look for him if they were ever in danger. So, he believed he could justify why he saw red when he saw this mark on you.

Neteyam knew, that you were a sweet girl. You barely stepped out of line and most of the time kept to yourself. Whoever hurt you was going to learn, don’t fuck with Neteyam’s mate.

“I don't like repeating myself.”

You stood silently as Neteyam looked at your cheek, “it was no one,” you said trying to convince yourself more than him. He let a dry laugh, “[Y/n], I understand if you're scared whoever hit you is gonna hurt you again,” he paused.

He forced your eyes to look at him, “But I assure you whoever laid their hands on you will pay.”

Your breath hitched as the boy smiled. How could he smile yet make such threats, what would he do if he found out who it was? You stayed silent not knowing what to say, “[Y/n]!”

A voice called pulling your attention out appeared Kiri, “Your mother was calling for you,” your eyes widen as you thank her, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say to Neteyam as you try to leave, “[Y/n], if you won’t tell me I’ll find out.”

You knew he would, you were more scared of your mother than him so you chose silence. “Okay,” you say as you run off. This side of him gave you comfort in a way.

He cared about you, and he’s willing to figure out who hurt you. You smile softly as you see your mother, “yes,” you say softly.

She had never been violent towards you, but you knew she didn't like you. You didn't know why, maybe it's because you had grown up.

Many parents tend to want babies, yet become upset when the babies grow up. You were an only child for many reasons but the main one was, your parents didn't like each other.

They didn't even sleep in the same room so they certainly weren't going to mate.

“Why’d you run away,” she grabbed your ear, “Huh? Do you think this shit funny?” she dragged you as you yelled in pain, “Stop!” she flung you to the floor as your father came into the room, “what’s the meaning of this?”

You lifted your head to look at your mother, “I have never once done anything to deserve,” you sobbed as your father went to you, “honey-,” you cut him off, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Your emotions overwhelmed you, “the both of you are terrible people,” you stood up wiping your cheeks your sadness turning to anger.

“I wish I was just as naive as the people you put your act on for.”

Your mother grabbed you by the arm, “That's enough,” you yanked yourself away, “is it? You two act like I don't know, that I don't see that you both don't love each other.” Your mother stopped, “That's not true.”

“YES, IT IS!” you scream, “Honey,” your father tried to speak again, “No, it doesn't make sense. If you loved each other I wouldn't have caught that lady on Dad.”

You looked him in the eye, “Mom wouldn't have a new “special friend” over all the time,” tears fell down your cheeks, “and I’ve noticed this entire time, but I didn't say anything.”

You stopped as you notice tears in your mother's eyes, “I didn't say anything because I thought maybe one-day things would change.”

Your father put his head down, “and you hitting me today even though I did nothing proved something to me.” Your father's head shot up, “you hit her,” his voice raising, “I learned that you aren't staying together for me, you're doing it for them.”

“You aren't even his,” your mother’s voice was soft, “What?” your father steps in front of you, “don't listen.” your mother yanked at you, “YOU AREN’T EVEN HIS, [Y/n].”

You felt your heart in your stomach, “he was just some cover-up because your real dad is a piece of shit,” you sobbed, “tell me she's lying, DAD, TELL ME,” his head hung low, his hand reaching out for you, “I still love you.”

You ripped his hand away, “why do you hate me so much,” you faced your mother, “you ruined my life,” she said smiling, “It's only fair you feel how I’ve felt since the day you’ve been born.”

“Your father left me BECAUSE OF YOU,” your mother said, “he said no one could love me since my body was ruined.” she looked at you as if you were trash, “what woman has a child and no mate? So, this piece of crap agreed to play along.”

You looked at your “father” He looked away, “We had an agreement we would do whatever we want but the minute we leave this house, we were mated.” she smiled, “Guess you're not a dumbass after all.”

You looked at your hands, “fuck you, Mom,” you turned to leave wiping the tears that fell.

You sat on a tree contemplating. Everything you've ever known has been torn into shreds, and tears puddles in your eyes. How could you move on after this?

The man who you thought was your father turned out to be a hoax your mother put on. You sobbed as you thought more about it, and the only question you had was why.

Why did this have to happen to you? Why did your “parents” not love each other? Why did your mother lie about your father? I mean even if he was a piece of shit you still deserved to know who your real father is.

“[Y/n],” a voice calls for you. You knew who it was, the boy who has been stuck in your mind for as long as you can remember, “yes,” you said as he sat down next to you. His hand grabbed yours he sat in silence not saying anything.

Neteyam said he was going to find out who hit you, and he did. “I know who did it,” he said finally breaking the silence. Your eyes widen, “teyem, she didn't mean to,” you don't know why you tried defending her.

She didn't deserve that from you.

“Didn't mean to my ass,” he made you look at him, “You know I love you,” you nodded slowly, “so, you know that I'd do anything to protect you, even from your own parents.”

You looked away, “I just don't get it,” You finally broke down in front of the boy, “I don't know why they are like this,” the boy wrapped his arms around you, “You deserve better [Y/n], I can give you everything you ever dreamed of and more.”

You believed him. You knew he could but your mind stopped you. How did you know he wasn't going to leave you? How do you know that even after you have his child he won't leave? Every bad possible situation to ever happen your mind thought about.

“My parents,” you paused your mind was mushy, “they didn't love each other. They put on this front but I knew they didn't love each other.” you let the truth slip your mouth, “How will I know you’ll love me?” The question came from a place of insecurity and for most, those types of questions were annoying.

But you needed to know. You wanted the reassurance that he wanted you, not because you could give him children. Not because you could cook, clean, or whatever because anybody could do those things. You wanted him to want you for you, and not the things you could do for him.

“I’ve always loved you,” Neteyam kisses your hand, “from the moment we met, till right now my heart has always been yours.” he smiled at you as he saw that blush appear on your cheeks.

“I can never take someone else as long as I live because I’ll always be searching for you in them,” tears puddled in your eyes, “I don't care how long it takes, I’ll wait for you. If you have problems tell me I want to help, I need you to know that i’m right here,” he put his forehead on yours, “I’ll protect you, I’d do anything even kill if it meant I could see you one last time, [Y/n].”

You connected your lips with him, and he grabbed you pulling you into his lap. You grabbed onto his hair deepening the kiss till you both are forced to let go for air. “I love you, Neteyam.”

He smiled big, “You won’t have to worry about your parents, love” You gave a bittersweet smile maybe leaving them was for the best, “Okay, oh dear you have blood on your chest!” the boy simply wiped it away, “I was helping my mother cook!” you nodded before you two started cuddling, “I meant every word I said, I’ll protect you.” you smiled, “I know.”

After you had left, Kiri tried speaking with Neteyam but it was like the boy was gone. He was there but someone else took over his body. Neteyam knew your schedule, who you hung out with, and what you did so for you to have a mark it would need to come from someone close to you.

“Kiri, did you hang out with [Y/n] today?” the girl shook her head, “No, I haven't she was with her family most of the day.” Neteyam nodded before walking off, had only Kiri known what was going to happen next she wouldn't have said that.

He became your shadow, watching as your mother dragged you. His teeth gritted against each other, it was taking a lot from him not to go and kill your mother.

He wanted you to think he was a good boy, who followed the rules and was always nice. He didn't need you to know that he had bad thoughts. Thoughts of killing everybody that came into contact with you, and keeping you locked away from everything.

You’d become dependent on him, your eyes would look for him, and you’d be on your knees for him. He stood outside the makeshift door as he heard you fight with your parents.

“You aren't even his!” Neteyam’s heart broke for you. Finding out the man who raised you isn't your father? That's a lot to deal with, thankfully Neteyam was there to help you.

He heard you cry and all he needed was for you to leave. “Fuck you, Mom,” you said before running out. Neteyam's smile widen as he creeped out heading into the room, “hello,” he said as your mother looked at him, “Neteyam! What brings you here?” what heartless person yells at their child then turns around and smiles?

I mean he has no room to talk, “I heard a little arguing everything alright?” your father nodded, “Just a little family disagreement,” the man went to place a hand on the boy but Neteyam grabbed it quickly, “It didn't sound like that to me.”

“Thats one good grip you have boy,” he tried getting his hand back but Neteyam's grip became harder, “I know what you said to her,” his anger flipping to your mother, “and I think it's just so cruel to keep such a huge secret from your daughter.”

“Good thing she’s coming with me,” he moved quickly taking a knife out and cutting your father's neck, not to kill him just a warning. Your father fell to the floor as your mother backed up.

“Scared now?” he grabbed her and covered her mouth before she could scream, “i’m going to tell you how this is going to work from here on out, or,” he brought his knife to the woman’s neck, “you're not going to like it.”

“You are going to stay away from [Y/n],” he kicked your father who was writhing on the floor, “i’m going to mate with her, and you two will of course give us your blessings or I will kill you two.”

Your mother cried under the boy's tight grip, “You weren't so sad after causing my girl harm,” he cut her high before letting her fall, “tell anyone this was me and I’ll have you wiped from this planet.”

He put his knife back and walked out, “Thank you for the blessings, Mom and Dad.”

***

HEYYY GUYSSS!!! so sorry it took longer to finish this I have so much school work thank God school is almost over!! Hope you enjoy it!!”

Taglist: @cherry-blossom24 , @yourbobaeyestell, @erenjaegerwife, @mashiromochi, @nxptury, @eywaheardyou, @vviolaswrld, @stevesdick , @nana-luvsyu, @liyahsocorro , @coterami, @parrotpeggy, @adaiasafira, @elegantzippercashshoe, @lollife1617, @aracelikara, @bluealiensimp, @hoodiepandaninja16, @ssc7514, @white-girl444, @idaxellqs, @nataliexoxoxo29

[heliads]

Hello, glad I can submit this request then, I barely find any Luke Castellan fics he needs more love 😭

Anyways, I just wanted to request something small like headcannons on what it would be like at the aftermath of the Battle of Manhattan if Luke didn't die, what would he be like and how the reader would help him overcome his trauma or problems ? Just pure fluff is what I'm trying to say ;_;

Sorry if that doesn't make any sense... Please let me know if you don't understand me XD

But thank you so much if you write this <3

i see that you have asked for headcanons but i am so delighted by this request that you get a full fic instead (ily)

masterlist

Luke Castellan is not sure what to do with the fact that he did not die. It would have made for a better ending, he thinks. It was the logical conclusion. He tried to make a better world, and when that failed, he could have been terminated along with that last dream. It is what most people would have decided was best.

Yet Luke opens his eyes– his eyes, not someone else’s, not that awful feeling of having his body belong to some being that was not even human, let alone not him– and he is alive. Luke is not sure yet whether this is good or bad. He’s not sure that anything in this world could remotely fit into those categories anymore.

He stares up at a blank ceiling above, which confuses him. Last time he checked, Luke was dying on the ruined floor of the gods’ throne room. There had still been a roof over his head, but Luke swore that he could see a sky of the deepest blue. Luke had felt himself fall into that wondrous lapis void, and then he had felt nothing at all.

That was supposed to be dying. It was more peaceful than most people would say he deserved, given all the hell Luke wreaked on the world by allying with Kronos. Luke’s supposed ending had certainly not been pretty:  a dagger in his hand, stabbed into the one place the immortal waters of the River Styx hadn’t protected him. Achilles’ curse had lifted, and Luke was free of the Titan that had been consuming his body whole.

Yet Luke is staring up at a room that is neither burned nor broken. At first, he wonders if this is what death is like, but he’s heard enough stories of the Underworld to know that it would never be this simplistic. No, this isn’t Death; Luke sits up slowly and manages to fight nausea long enough to realize that he’s back in Camp Half-Blood. Back home, his mind tells him, and Luke has to remind himself that’s not true anymore. He has no home. He has no people, he left them all a very long time ago.

A voice to his side makes Luke whip around.

“I’d sit down if I were you.”

Luke trains his eyes until they slowly, begrudgingly focus on an orange-shirted figure seated next to him. At last, he realizes he recognizes the guy. Will Solace, one of Apollo’s kids. He must have been in charge of bringing Luke back from the dead. 

Luke is baffled by the fact that Will is perched here and not Michael Yew, current head of the Apollo cabin, until it occurs to him that Michael is likely dead. That explains the hollows under Will’s eyes, at least, and the undercurrent of hate that Will only barely keeps at bay. Such strong emotions for a boy who’s usually so cheerful. Luke supposes he only has himself to blame for that.

Will may despise Luke all he wishes, but he’s still a doctor at heart. The blond gestures for Luke to lean back down. “If you rip out your stitches and make my work worthless, I’ll kill you myself.” Will says.

Luke arches a brow. “How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

“I’m still debating,” Will replies pleasantly.

Someone laughs next to him. “Try to stay civil, Solace. Our time for killing is over.”

A camper takes a seat on Luke’s other side. After a few moments of recollection, his addled head realizes that he knows them. That’s Y/N L/N, they’ve been in the Hermes cabin for the longest time, not one of Luke’s half siblings on the godly side but yet another demigod gone unclaimed for years. They used to complain about that to him. He doubts they would repeat the same sentiments now.

Will groans. “Let me at least try to be intimidating, L/N. I only get to do it so often.”

Y/N cracks a grin, then turns to Luke. “I imagine you must have a lot of questions.”

Luke narrows his eyes at them. “Why aren’t I dead?”

Y/N does a superb job of ignoring Will’s clear sentiment that he’d like an answer to that as well, keeping their gaze firmly trained on Luke. “You tried to stop Kronos in the end. Chiron decided that, seeing as you did all that in an effort to protect unclaimed kids and demigods who were ignored by their godly parents, you deserved a second chance.”

“Does anyone other than Chiron actually believe that?” Luke asks pointedly.

Y/N shrugs. “Depends on what you do when you get out of here.”

Will jumps up. “That’s my cue to check on the rest of my suffering patients. You know, the ones that didn’t try to betray us.”

Y/N watches him go. “Ignore him. He’s–”

Luke cuts her off. “Mad that I tried to kill everyone here? I can’t blame him.”

“So you regret what you did?” Y/N questions slowly.

“I don’t regret trying to do something,” Luke says, “only that the gods weren’t as hurt as the demigods. I didn’t want to hurt us, just them. Olympus could use a good scare.”

Thunder rumbles overhead, loud and overbearing. Luke imagines it’s a warning to him:  he’s treading on thin ice by staying alive, he’d better not press his luck by insulting the gods anymore.

Y/N sighs, evidently thinking the same thing. “You wouldn’t be the only one to want the world to change.”

Luke glances over at them. Obviously, he hasn’t seen Y/N since he switched sides, but he had forgotten that they used to be friends. Good friends, too. It’s nice to have at least that back to normal.

“You haven’t been claimed in the last while, have you?” He asks, changing the subject away from more dangerous waters.

Y/N smiles. “Actually, I have. Percy made the gods swear to start claiming more of their kids. I found out about my parentage a few days ago.”

Luke nods solemnly, but doesn’t ask for further details. He made a point of prioritizing the demigod over their godly parent when he was recruiting for Kronos during the war, and he supposes that habit has stuck. It makes him wonder how many more traits of the enemy he won’t ever be able to shake.

“So when do I get out of here?”

Y/N folds their arms across their chest. “Depends on what you mean by getting out of here. You’ll get a clean bill of health within the next day or two, most likely. You won’t be leaving the camp for months, though, if ever.”

The implications of that don’t have to be spoken aloud. Luke messed up, obviously, and so he’ll be on house arrest until the end of time. If he can prove that he’s worth the effort of saving, maybe they’ll let him live his life, but until then he’ll be monitored around the clock.

It’s more than he expected, at any rate. Part of Luke thought that he’d be handed over to some sort of trial once he healed up, made to face his crimes and be overly punished accordingly. That way, the gods could point to him in the decades and centuries to come as proof of why half-bloods should never reach for more than they deserve.

But no, he’ll be living. That’s certainly something. Luke leans back slowly against his cot and ponders this. “Do I get a personal guard or something?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “Kind of. You get me. I’m supposed to follow you around and make sure you don’t try to escape.”

Luke snorts. “How’d you get stuck with that job?”

“I asked for it,” Y/N says coolly.

Luke is taken aback. “Why’d you do that?” He can’t imagine anyone in this camp actively trying to bond with him, let alone someone he knew as well as Y/N. Wouldn’t they hate him for betraying them?

They might be just as surprised about it as he is. “I’m not entirely sure. Guess I thought I was the only one who wouldn’t actively try to kill you in your sleep.”

They’re brutal about it, but it’s kind of nice. Honesty is the only sort of medicine that Luke feels like he can stomach right now. Mollycoddling and sugarcoating just serve to waste time.

He half expects Y/N to back out of it, but no, when Luke is declared medically sound and all but forced out of the hospital wing by swordpoint, they’re waiting for him by the door. Luke staggers out into the bright sunlight and looks around like he’s in a dream. The camp has changed since he last saw it. Cabins have sprung up like wildflowers and more are being constructed by the moment.

Y/N notices him staring and gestures towards the new buildings. “See, that’s your doing, even if no one wants to admit it. A ton of new kids have been claimed. Hermes cabin has never been so empty.”

Bitterness surges through Luke’s throat before he can stop it. “I thought that was Percy’s idea.”

Y/N shakes their head. “Percy only got the idea from you. You can make yourself a villain if you want, but you weren’t entirely heartless. You got my godly parent to claim me, and that’s worth a lot.”

Luke smiles to himself as they go. Y/N leads him to the door of their cabin. It’s still cavernously empty compared to the close quarters Luke remembers in Hermes, and he only notices one bunk with belongings on it.

“You’re the only one here?” He asks.

Y/N nods. “So far, at least. I’ve got you now, though. Just as a warning, I will be claiming cabin counselor privileges and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Luke grins before he realizes it. The expression makes his scar ache, but he finds he doesn’t mind it quite so much as before. “I won’t fight you on that.”

He pulls himself onto the top bunk of one of the many empty rows and surveys his new domain. “Do you think it was worth it? Figuring out who your godly parent was just for them to leave you like this?”

After all, what a life. An empty cabin already collecting dust. It’s cold in here without bodies inside to warm it up. The walls are barren of personal touches. Y/N knows their heritage, yes, and is able to move out of a cabin that was never theirs, but this doesn’t seem like much of a blessing.

Y/N lingers by the foot of Luke’s bunk, and he gestures for them to climb up and join him. They do so in a heartbeat, and then they’re sitting opposite each other, gazes locked and breathing steady.

“It can be lonely,” they admit, “but it’s not so bad. You have hope that it won’t always be this way. Maybe someone will come. Maybe someone already has.”

Luke swallows harshly. “I missed you.”

He blurts it out, hardly aware of what he’s saying. He missed a hell of a lot. Y/N. Laughing at midnight, their whispered words covered up by the sounds of dozens of campers sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Training during the day, the clash of celestial bronze. Orange shirts burning like beacons against their backs. Being able to wear his beaded necklace without feeling like a traitor, even if that’s what he is and always will be.

Y/N leans forward. “I missed you too. I kept hearing about you, which is more than you got of me, but it didn’t feel right. I don’t know where the boy I knew is, if he even exists anymore, but I’d like to try and find him again.”

“I’d like to find him again too,” Luke whispers.

It is the dream of a broken boy bleeding out in the palace of the gods. At this moment, Luke isn’t entirely sure that he didn’t die there in the Olympian throne room. If someone told him that this is what dying is like, conjuring up a vision of what he wishes he could have most of all, Luke would have believed them.

In the end, Luke has no idea if this is real or not. All he can do is keep going, keep waking up each morning to see if he is still in the hazy aftermath of a second chance or finally locked down below in the Underworld. Luke always wanted to try for the Isles of the Blest anyway. Maybe this is just his second life, his second attempt at getting there.

He reaches out on impulse and takes Y/N’s hand. He can feel the blood pumping through their veins, the same certainty as being able to press his fingers against a locked door and know exactly how to break in. This is Luke’s next great trick, but he thinks he’d like to do it right.

“Alright, then,” Luke says at last, “Let’s try again.”

pjo taglist: @w1shes43

[tiny-tini-imagines]

Oh, hello— gosh dang a new writer? Instant support, sending love— mate, your writing Is awesome. Could I ask for a Legolas hc? (Lemme hop on the Legolas chain for a sec— his dad’s taking up way too much space in the back compartment—) Legolas with an elf s/o who.. ‘isn’t like other elves..’?’ OKAY— it may sound ridiculous but hold on— like an elf that does thing differently from other? You know how elves are usually quite regal and stuff.. has their priorities straight, mild mannered and all that?— take all that, and throw it out the window. Bc this elf believes that they should live their long-ass life span to the fullest and not really think too hard on how other view them and such? Chaotic and all that, but down to earth? The total opposite of what a normal elf would act.

Feel free to ignore this (and my incessant rambling) have a nice day!

Hey! Thank you so so so much for your support and kind words. I'm so happy that you enjoyed my writing, and let me tell you - I absolutely love your request! Funny enough, I once started a ff with a human character as Legolas s/o who had no manners, but imagining it with an elf sounds even cooler. Hope that's what you had in mind...

Headcanons - Lord of the rings

summary: Legolas and a s/o non typical elf

(added: what they would say to them, or about them)

Initial Antipathy: At first, Legolas might not get along too well with them, finding their chaotic and unpredictable nature somewhat jarring compared to his usual elven decorum.

Protective Streak: Despite their incredible strength and speed, Legolas can't help but feel protective of them. They often worry about their safety, which leads to some tension in their interactions. (They often insist that they don't need Legolas's protection and can handle themselves, telling him to go and take care of himself, but it's their way of shielding their true feelings for them.)

"Their strength and resilience are astounding, and I find myself in awe of their ability to face danger head-on, even when it terrifies me."

Eloquent Disagreements: Legolas and his elf s/o have a fair share of passionate disagreements, especially in the beginning. They engage in eloquent debates where they challenge each other's perspectives, making their interactions both fiery and intellectually stimulating. Anyway, Legolas would often find himself speechless, because they don't mince their words and says what they really think, over time he gets used to it and likes it a little bit more, especially since he can't afford to speak like them as the Prince of Mirkwood .

"I must respectfully disagree. While your unorthodox approach is certainly intriguing, I believe tradition and preservation of elven customs hold their own merit in our world." - legolas in an arguement between them

Archery Lessons: One way Legolas tries to bridge the gap between their personalities is by offering archery lessons. He's patient as he teaches them, finding solace in the shared moments at the archery range. (They might not be too good in archery, but have a very unique and stunning way to handle their sword.)

Language: They're known for their sometimes rude language, (which Gimli secretly appreciates). Legolas would just shake his head from time to time, but secretly thinking that it's kind of brave.(Legolas understands that this is their way of expressing emotions. He appreciates the sincerity behind their words and actions.)

Revealing Their Feelings: Eventually, it's them who reveals their feelings first, unable to contain their affection any longer. Legolas is taken by surprise but soon reciprocates with their own heartfelt admission. (They would say it in a very untypical way for an elf, maybe even curse, after Legolas has put himself in unnecessary danger, and pull him into a tight embrace in an unelvish way)

Surprise and Stunned Silence: Legolas is initially taken completely by surprise. He's used to elven decorum and the more reserved expressions of affection, so their outburst catches him off guard.

Conflicting Emotions: He experiences a whirlwind of emotions in that moment - surprise, confusion, but mostly a deep warmth in his heart.

S/o: "Damn! By the stars, Legolas! What were you thinking you fool, charging in like that? I thought I lost you, stupid elf!" They exclaim, their voice laced with worry and frustration, a slip of affectionate concern coloring their words. They immediately pull him in a tight embrace Legolas: His eyes widen in surprise at their outburst, the genuine worry in their tone catching him off guard. "I... I did not mean to cause you such distress. But know that my heart swells with gratitude for your concern."

The Impact of Danger: The fact that their confession comes after he put himself in unnecessary danger makes Legolas acutely aware of the depth of their concern and love for him. It's a realization that touches him deeply. + (This moment reinforces his protective instinct. Legolas becomes even more committed to keeping them safe, knowing how deeply they care for him.)

After Revealing Feelings: After their feelings are out, they share tender moments amidst their chaotic adventures. Legolas becomes more understanding of their free-spirited nature, and they appreciate his unwavering support.

"Meeting you has been the greatest adventure of my life, and I look forward to many more chapters of our story together."

Bridging Differences: As their love deepens, they learn to appreciate each other's strengths and differences. Legolas discovers that their boldness complements his wisdom, and he becomes more open to spontaneity.

Shared Adventures: Legolas is drawn to their adventurous spirit. He finds himself relishing the excitement of their escapades, even if they often involve unconventional ways and risks. (They have an insatiable thirst for adventure and are always dragging Legolas into daring escapades and exploration.)

Meeting Thranduil: Legolas knows that introducing his s/o to his father, Thranduil, won't be easy. The King of Mirkwood has high expectations for his son's choice and wants him to make a more traditional choice for a partner, but eventually, even Thranduil comes to admire their fierce independence and the happiness she brings to Legolas. + (They absolutely refuse to bow or show deference to anyone, not even to the King of Mirkwood. Their boldness both amuses and confounds Legolas and Thranduil.)

"Ada, I must admit, they are unlike any elf I have ever known. Their spirit is untamed, their heart bold, and they defy convention in a way that is both bewildering and strangely admirable."

Balancing Act: Their relationship is a delightful balancing act between Legolas's regal upbringing and their chaotic, down-to-earth approach to life. Together, they bring out the best in each other, forging an unbreakable bond.

Appreciation of Imperfection: Through his s/o, Legolas learns to appreciate imperfection and the beauty life's unpredictability. He discovers that perfection is not always the most fulfilling path.

"In your presence, I've come to understand that there is beauty in imperfection, and I cherish every moment we share, even when chaos reigns around us."

Respect for Individuality: Legolas deeply respects their individuality and appreciates the fact that they don't conform to typical elven norms. He admires their strength of character and their willingness to be true to themselves.

Encouragement and Support: He is a source of unwavering encouragement and support for them. Legolas understands that their unconventional approach to life is a part of what makes them special, and he never tries to change or suppress it.

A Gentle Hand: He has a gentle and caring touch, especially when it comes to tending to any injuries or scrapes they may acquire during their daring exploits (and especially since they're a bit chaotic and maybe somtimes even clumsly when paying too much attention to Legolas and not their surroundings.) Legolas takes great care in ensuring their well-being. (They would not admid that they need help at first, so Legolas does it without any words or asking, always making sure they're all right.)

Affectionate Gestures: Legolas is not one to shy away from showing affection. He expresses his love through tender gestures, whether it's a soft touch, a warm smile, or an embrace. However, the moment his s/o started feeling comfortable showing off their relationship, they'd often hug Legolas thightly (sometimes to his surprise, but he secretly enjoys them a lot).

Hair: He'd let them play with his hair, but don't expect them to braid it, since they can't do it and it would just get tangled (Legolas tried to teach them, but gave up after several attempts.) However he would sometimes braid their hair, if they asked him, tho they mostly like to keep it open

[mimiwritcs]

FIGHT FOR YOU (1/?)

FANDOM: Divergent

PAIRING: Eric Coulter x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: this is after four+eric's initiation and before tris'. this will be the build up of the characters as we got introduced to them as well as maybe the society. not just a love story but we aim for characters' growth and storytelling.

WORDS: 2.6K

A/N: not only my first time writing on this fandom but also in general in a very long time. kinda letting myself go with the flow. bc the best writing is just writing and letting the story tell itself ;) took 5 days and 3 drafts to complete this, so hopefully muse isn't too off by the end of it lmao if anyone loses time of their day to read this, hope you like it & thank youu <3

You were shocked by what you had done. You couldn't think due to Dauntless' ovations. WHAT DID YOU JUST DO? Before turning over to your new faction, you took a few steps back to observe how your blood blended with the scalding coals. Some Dauntless approached you and whispered "congratulations" or "hi" before one left their seat to you in the front row and slipped into the back to see the rest of the ceremony.

You didn't regret your choice. That's what you had to do. It was really startling to learn on the aptitude test that you were Dauntless rather than Erudite. Did you always think Dauntless was the coolest faction to be at? Yeah. Did you think you could be strong enough to be a part of it? Hell no. Your first emotion was not fear but respect towards it. You felt like a fish out of water. This was something you never expected. 95% of the initiatives belonged to the faction to which they were born. How the hell were you the one chosen to be into the 5%? You were unsure, but a spark had ignited within you after that.

You were unable to stop thinking about it. Did you believe you can handle it? You were unsure. Yet, how could they possibly have failed? All of their propaganda to believe the ceremony and the test to become who you genuinely are rather than who you wish you were. In the Choosing Ceremony, you weren't fully certain about your choice. Erudite was always so intelligent and clear, but you were always doubting it. Guess it was true, you were not part of the faction. They really did say something prior that caused you to make a last-minute choice change. You couldn't be where you weren't meant to be. You had something inside of you that had the potential to blossom into Dauntless, and you couldn't survive without discovering what it was. Could you have securely remained in Erudite without letting anyone know your result? Sure. Even if you weren't yet aware of your inner Dauntless, you still needed to remain true to yourself.

So you swallowed it and moved your hand swiftly just as the first drop of blood entered the Erudite bowl. You apologized while looking for your parents' eyes amid the crowd. They certainly did not anticipate it. You adored your parents and were aware of how much both of you would miss each other after you were gone. However, they would comprehend. They would have to. Even if they could never have imagined making this choice, you know they would. Faction before blood. Because you were so preoccupied with your thoughts, you hardly notice the rest of the ceremony. Knowing that you had made the right choice for yourself and would have to live with it, with your truth, you were able to relax. Wasn't that a brave thing to do anyway? You choose the reality, throwing yourself into the unknowing rather than staying safe where you were. Guess you belonged there too.

As soon as the Ceremony finished, all factions started to orderly march in turns. However, the tranquility was short-lived. The moment everyone reached the front door, all Dauntless began to scream and flee. Confused, you changed a few looks with some new transfer Dauntless like yourself. You were grinning as everyone applauded, and you began to run with them into the city, feeling as liberated as you had ever been. After being stiff for so long in the ceremony, it felt exhilarating to be able to move your body, running and jumping with everyone else. It also seemed like everyone was celebrating a new beginning, their arrival. And before you knew it, they were claiming up to the train station.

After attentively observing a few of the more experienced members, you started to follow them. You didn't want to be the last person to give it a go or the final one to fall short. You had heard so many rumors and of course, Dauntless had to be tough. We needed them to look out for us. They were necessary. But even on the first day, they were giving you a brutal workout; could this be typical of their routine? God, you had to get fitter if you wanted to keep going without stopping for breath.

What you were unaware of was that this was merely the beginning. Although you were aware that you would need to undergo training in order to match their level of toughness and fitness, you didn't anticipate that this would serve as your welcome to the faction. You started hearing and seeing the train speeding into your way, and before you realized what the intentions were, you were shocked they were doing this to the newbies. You thought they must have started training them to jump in and out of trains moving at slower speeds. But you guessed not. After someone pulled you slightly to the side, so they could continue racing with their Dauntless colleagues, you snapped out of your thoughts. You began to run as well, and you watched people pulling themselves onto the wagon by helping themselves by grabbing the door handle.

As you approached, you stumbled into the wagon just barely before pushing yourself to the side to make room for others and in an effort to catch some air. You were trying to control your breathing by looking at the ground, when suddenly, you notice how a girl bumps into you.

"OUCH" you both exclaim, as she moves away from her towards the door, you quickly get up.

"Sorry, I didn't even-" the black girl starts to speak.

"No, don't worry, I've made the same landing, I hope it gets better with time" you smile at her as you offer your hand to help her get up and out of the way, as you see a teammate who has to do wonders to avoid walking on her. "My name is Y/M" you introduce yourself.

"Winter, nice to meet you" she smiles at you as she takes your hand and she stands up. Yellow cloths. Amity. "What a welcome" Winter whispers, it wasn't a complaint, but from her tone it wasn't a compliment either and you understood it. You were just as tired.

As Winter struggled to catch her breath, you started to gaze inside your wagon. You noticed that both initiates and adults were conversing in a corner with other Dauntless companions, and that the color that stuck out the most was white. Candor. There was no one from Erudite that you recognized when you tried to look around the wagon. You now wish that you had paid closer attention to the ceremony to learn the identities of your new colleagues. You imagine you'd learn the answer quite quickly.

"Why are we moving towards Abnegation?" asked a boy from Candor who was standing close to you but whom you had overlooked.

You couldn't believe it; this was your first time riding a train, and you were preoccupied with the interior rather than the outside scenery. You turned around and scan the area. Winter mused, and you nodded. "Perhaps they are giving us the difficult route; try to picture the landscape a bit; after all, we will have to travel a lot. That, or just give us time to catch our breath." The three of you laughed as she spoke.

"At least I'm glad all of us transferees are equally dying." The boy replied sincerely. "I don't think much could have trained us for this." Winter continued. "Yeah, but that's what initiation is for, I'm sure we'll all learn how to uncover our advantages", you said.

The three of you stood there in silence watching the train as it accelerated forward, away from Abnegation and toward the fence, with distant views of Amity's factories.

"It's fantastic, I've never seen this far from the city" Remarked a girl as she left a big group and headed towards the unoccupied window in front of them to get a better view. White clothes, she was Candor too. "It's lovely, I've never seen so much green combined" You added as you got closer to see better next to her, and you felt that your companions did the same. "Nature is what I'll miss the most." Winter introduced herself, and the girl turned to greet her. While she was looking at all of us, she began to call her name, "Cor-" but when her gaze landed next to her faction mate, she tightened up a little. "Alvin"

You noticed he hadn't introduced himself, therefore that was his name. She received a little bow from Alvin with his head, "Corinne" The girl grinned at him and said, "There was no question that you were going to be a Dauntless." "Yeah, I can't say the same about you." He said, a little dryly, there was some friction because these two weren't exactly best buddies. You cut the conversation short, "Nice to meet you Corinne, I'm Y/M," and Corinne smiled at you, seemingly thanking you for the change of subject. "Likewise. Hey Winter, your lands are huge, aren't they?", she asked.

"Yes, but this is just a portion. We only come here to labor and gather some supplies. Our primary land is located in the northern part of the city. Although you can't see how huge it is from a train because we've already passed it all, this train moves quickly", she said, and you agreed. You had read a lot about Amity, so you were familiar with everything. "Yeah, we're already heading back to the city, so I guess it won't be long for us to go down" You said.

And before you knew it, the three of you females started chit-chatting about your prior lives while Alvin quietly left to find other company. After a while you started hearing knowing on metal and scanned the wagon looking at one of the Dauntless members trying to get everyone's attention. "Stop talking, we're almost there,"

And suddenly it was over. Everyone began to jump once more. Winter continued to whine, but there was no time for it. The train was going quickly, there was not much time to second guess if you didn't want to miss it. You gave a side smile and noted out of resignament before crossing over to the other side in an effort to gain speed as you impulsively leaped.

Your body felt the shock of your short fall on the roof, but you were unharmed. Adrenaline running through your body. Corinne and Winter fell exactly next to you, and as your eyes crossed, you both couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of the scenario. Even though this was crazy, you were okay. And going forward, everything will be easier, or so you believed.

The three of you stood up and made your way over to the large group that was assembling on the opposite side, where one boy was standing on top of the roof and giving everyone a somber look over his shoulder. "Alright, listen up. My name's Eric. I am one of the leaders of your faction. Several floors below us is the entrance for the members of our compound. If you can't muster the will to jump, you don't belong here." Specifically focusing on those who stood out the most in the crowd of people wearing black clothing—transferred people like you—he said, "Initiates any volunteers?" Despite the fact that, in your opinion, you shouldn't have to prove yourself, he was putting you to the test.

Everyone turned to look when a familiar male voice shouted "Me" As soon as you laid your eyes onto him, you recognized him. Milan. Fellow Erudite like you. His transfer wasn't a surprise, everyone could tell Erudite wasn't his place, but you weren't paying enough attention at the Ceremony following your turn to observe his entry. After all these changes, you both attempted to greet a familiar face as he passed between you by exchanging glances and nodding slightly to one another as you smiled awkwardly.

Although you couldn't see Milan's face, you could tell when he lost confidence and his shoulders stiffened as he looked at the darkness beneath him. He took a moment to inhale deeply and jumped. But once he did everyone carefully stayed in silence as if that would help them hear better any sign of his existence. Other few seconds passed and a fellow Dauntless-born stepped out to the edge to jump off without thinking with a smile on her face and at that moment, you realized. There could not be something dangerous down there, what could be the point of losing all their new members? After that realization, you relaxed your shoulders and as a Candor member started to climb into the edge, you started making your way to the edge as the fourth volunteer.

You took advantage of the small amount of time while the third jumper was jumping to get a better look at one of your new leaders, Eric, and his colleagues who were standing to the side. He definitely had a Pug face that was at ease. His thick black tattooed stripes on his neck and pierced brows gave him a decidedly unfriendly appearance. Was it just his demeanor, or did he have to put on an act to lead initiatives? All the other Dauntless teammates were equally intimidating-looking and well-groomed. You recall how fantastical you always thought they were when you were little. So tall and powerful, covered in so many tattoos. You've always questioned whether they altered the new initiatives, chose their new look and suddenly they became fearless. Before the Aptitude Test, you had trouble picturing anybody from Erudite as Dauntless. As you grew older, you came to know how absurd that notion was, and as you stood a few feet from their position, you were aware that everything was about to unfold for you.

When the leader looked up after checking the bottom of the hole, he discovered your eyes were fixed on him. He turned his head as a signal for Next, and you immediately ascended and looked below. Knowing that you were about to leap off to nothing made for a definitely terrifying-looking vista. However, there couldn't be nothing there. You simply knew it. You inhaled deeply before making a leap of faith.

And despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but tighten up as you descend under the hole swiftly. Soon you were struck with something that coins the impact. A net. There's a fucking net. Your body unwinds, and you begin to chuckle. You were beginning to understand the significance of this. Looking around, you see someone attempting to assist you. Quickly turning to the edge with his assistance, you roll out. The man asks, "Your name? You cannot change it after the fact, so consider your options carefully," he said with a warm smile. However, there was nothing you were running after. You didn't need a fresh start just to keep growing. "Y/M" You grinned, he nodded, and you followed his eyes as he turned to look at another Dauntless member who appeared to be in charge of arranging the group of your fellow initiatives as well as a group of people standing behind whom, based on their behavior, you assumed didn't want to miss this.

When the man who pulled you out of the net announced you as the fourth jumper, the gathering of people from your new group applauded you on, and you raised your fist in celebration as you joined the others who had jumped prior.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Apart from C-A Prieur, did anyone else in the CSP remain a friend with Lazare Carnot after Thermidor?

I think @aedesluminis and @sieclesetcieux are better suited to answer this than I am, I’m generally pretty unfamiliar with the Office CPS dynamics (I honestly don’t even know which of the members were friends of Carnot beforethermidor). But I’ve at least managed to dig out the following:

In volume 3 of his memoirs, Barère writes that he, following getting relieved of his legislative duties, wrote two or three letters to Carnot expressing some ideas on European politics and the power of the Directory, but that Carnot expressed no interest towards neither the letters or the man Barère had sent to hand them over. ”From this time my correspondence with the Director Carnot ceased; he either could, or would, do nothing for me, he forgot me altogether, and himself disappeared soon afterwards from this disunited, ill-matched, and utterly incapable Directory.”

Barère also writes that he in 1800, after having returned to Paris, had dinner with Fouché and Lamarque, ending with another encounter with Carnot: 

After dinner Lamarque told me that he wished to be reconciled to Carnot. I thought that the circumstances were favourable for the reconciliation of true patriots, as misfortune ought to unite all shades of opinion. I went to Carnot, and introduced to him my friend Lamarque, who had defended me during my proscription from the tribune of the Five Hundred.  "No doubt," replied Carnot ironically, "but he was the president of that council when I was transported as a member of the Directory." I perceived somewhat too late that there are some men whose memory is too good, and we parted rather disconcerted at this misunderstanding.

Later that year, Barère claims Carnot walked in on him and Napoleon having a conversation, and tried to help Barère obtain a position in the new regime: 

The conversation had reached this point when the Minister of War, Carnot, arrived with his portfolio to work with the First Consul. To give Carnot his due, he seemed very pleased to see me in close conversation with Bonaparte. He thought when he saw us tete-a-tete in the audience chamber that I was about to be appointed to some important office. In a few moments he said to the First Consul: "General, can you not usefully employ the talents of Citizen Barère?" The First Consul, who certainly had no desire to do so, and who had only offered me a miserable editorship, was silent, either because he did not choose to be catechised by one of his ministers, or because he had no favourable reply to make. I saw his embarrassment, and I replied to Carnot: "The First Consul would like to make me a bard to celebrate the glorious exploits of his warriors; but the age of Ossian has passed." This reply appeared to displease the First Consul, and I took my leave, considering myself very fortunate to have escaped being requisitioned as a journalist.

Collot d’Herbois mentioned Carnot once in his defence written 1795, attesting that the latter was hardworking. However, it doesn’t exactly tell us anything regarding if the two had stayed in touch or not:

I hastily ate a frugal meal every day in the vicinity of the committee. Carnot was forced to do the same, as was Prieur (de la Cote-d'Or.) They know of my assiduousness; only theirs and that of Lindet could surpass it.

As for Saint-André, I could find nothing when searching for ”Carnot” within the 1848 work Jean-Bon Saint-André, sa vie et ses écrits by Michel Nicolas. The same thing when searching for him Billuad-Varennes — mémoires et correspondance (1893)

That leaves us with Lindet and Prieur de la Marne, both of whom have left so little written material behind that I can’t say anything for the moment… There might be something in Notes et souvenirs inédits de Prieur de la Marne, but I don’t have access to those…